


It's Called 'Special'

by Myathewolfeh



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, UKUS, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myathewolfeh/pseuds/Myathewolfeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A jealous France decides to find out what makes England and America's relationship so special and gets a pleasant surprise. UKUS. You read right. UKUS. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Called 'Special'

**It had to be France.  
**

Warning: Lemon, voyeurism, exhibitionism, UKUS, oral, masturbation.

Disclaimer: All rights to Hidekaz Himaruya. I'm not as special as him! TT^TT

* * *

**It's Called 'Special'**

Francis just didn't get it. Alfred and Arthur were total opposites. Arthur crocheted as a hobby. Alfred procrastinated as a hobby. Arthur was refined and considerate. Alfred was obnoxious and crude. Arthur was annoyed by Alfred. Alfred was bored by Arthur. Arthur was currently taking notes. Alfred was seeing how high he could stack his paper airplanes before he pissed Ludwig off. Their whole friendship was one big conundrum. And it was fucking with Francis's mind.

 _Why?_ he thought as Arthur noticed what Alfred was doing and promptly blew the airplane stack down. Alfred frowned and responded by hurling one straight into Arthur's ear. _Why does America like England more than moi? I was so good to him when he was younger, and everyone knows I am much better company than that hardassed prude. I do not understand!_ Alfred had been so cute and innocent when he was younger. Granted he was still cute when he'd left England to come crying to him, but he certainly wasn't innocent for much long after…

"Try that again, whelp!" Arthur's hissed voice brought Francis back from a regrettably hot memory. The Briton was currently scrapping with Alfred over another paper airplane, more littered about him.

Alfred laughed and held the paper plane out of reach. "Chill out, bro, jeez!"

Ludwig cleared his throat, and Arthur immediately stopped what he was doing, hands going to his lap, flushing with embarrassment. Alfred, meanwhile, aimed another shot at his head.

"I believe it is time that we took a break," Ludwig announced, pinching the bridge of his nose. And with good reason. Half the nations were dozing off while the others were just doing their own thing. In Soo's case, it was trying to grope Yao's chest, and Ivan delighted in endlessly polishing his pipe and creepily smiling at anyone who was watching… it was distracting to say the least. Ludwig motioned to the doors. "You have half an hour, and please come back with _some_ sort of contribution."

With that, everyone dozing seemed to perk up immediately, and they all practically jumped up from their chairs and rushed for the doors. Francis eagerly followed, feeling like smoking a whole pack of cigarettes. Hell, anything to get his mind off Arthur and Alfred's damned 'special relationship.'

He had one already balanced between his lips before he heard talking behind him. He was one of the last nations to leave the room, but he soon found that there were a couple even further behind. He glanced back over his shoulder, huffing when he saw Alfred and Arthur standing and talking to each other. Arthur was scolding Alfred for his behavior, as per usual, while Alfred appeared to be zoning out. Typical.

… Or not. As soon as Francis stepped through the doors, he quickly hid behind a potted ficus. Maybe he could catch the two coming out and follow them? After all, they always went off by themselves to do… whatever the hell they did. Francis had tried to follow before, but he would constantly lose them. Now it was time to figure out what they did that was so 'special.'

He heard voices and footsteps growing closer, and he crouched down further, parting the leaves of the ficus to see through them.

"… lutely not."

"Aw, Artie, _why_?"

They came walking through the doors. Arthur stopped to scoff. "Why would I want to indulge you after you've been jabbing bloody paper airplanes into my ear?"

Alfred's lower lip jutted out. "But, Artie, I was just trying to stay awake. You know how fucking boring those meetings are. Germany's such a buzzkill. Every time I walk in there I just wanna _die_."

Arthur crossed his arms. "Maybe you should. You'd spare us all."

Alfred pouted. "Aw, Artie, you're so mean!"

"Well," Arthur sighed. "Perhaps I was a bit harsh…"

Francis's brows came together suspiciously. Arthur was… regretting insulting Alfred? Something was definitely going on here…

"You were," Alfred shot back, crossing his arms as well (huh, they appeared oddly similar like that) and looking away. "You should make it up to me, ya big meanie."

Arthur huffed. "Oh, stop acting like a child and come on. Thirty minutes will be up before we know it, and I don't want to spend every second of it arguing over something so petty." He turned and began to walk away, but Alfred refused to follow. Arthur gave a withering sigh and stopped, turning. "America."

"Nope!" Alfred shook his head. "I ain't going anywhere with you… or giving you any _thing_ until you apologize."

Francis's eyes narrowed. _Wait a minute…_

Arthur gawked. " _Me_ apologize? _You_ should be the one apologizing, git!"

Alfred suddenly got a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Francis had seen before, specifically when he and Alfred were alone. "Hey, Artie, you know that thing you've been wanting to do for, I dunno, a year?"

Arthur's attention snapped to then, his irritation immediately dissipating. "You wouldn—"

"Oh yeah, I would." Alfred shrugged nonchalantly. "So you can apologize, or until then you can just fuck yourself." Then the man turned his back to Arthur and waited. Oho, Francis knew _that_ move. Now he _really_ needed to know what was going on.

Arthur scoffed and then was silent for a while, as if waiting Alfred out. His foot began to tap impatiently and suddenly his eyes began to dart around, as if searching for someone—or confirming that no one was there, which Francis had himself done numerous times before.

Finally, Arthur gave an annoyed huff. " _Fine_ , you insufferable twit. I'll… apologize…"

Alfred kept his back to Arthur, a smile beginning to spread across his face. "Apologize the _right_ way?"

Arthur hesitated, seeming to consider something for a moment. Then his expression changed completely to something… Francis couldn't quite pick out. It was familiar, but Francis had only ever recalled seeing the look on Arthur's face a handful of times in his life.

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "You're a right _wanker_ is what you are."

"I think you're just stalling."

Arthur gave a smile that masked other intentions. It actually made Francis shiver a bit. "Of course. Thirty minutes do fly by fast. Might as well make the most of it, eh?"

Alfred turned around to face Arthur then, and they both exchanged identical expressions before they headed off at a fast walk down the hall. Francis made to follow them, but his hair became snagged in the ficus branches and he was forced to do a messy tango just to get free of it.

"Merde, come on," Francis cursed. "Why is everything attracted to me?" He eventually got loose (after leaving a considerable amount of his hair behind, which made tears come to his eyes not necessarily caused by pain) and took off after the others. He didn't have to go far, however. He soon spotted Arthur and Alfred standing in the hall, looking around for… something. Just as Arthur's eyes fell on his part of the hallway, Francis slipped into a small breakroom just to the left of him. Francis let out a relieved sigh before he heard close footsteps and Arthur's voice saying, "Here."

Francis nearly jumped out of his skin and sprinted for a closet across the room, practically vaulting over the ratty couch. He yanked open the door just as he heard the knob behind him jiggle and was met with a mop handle to the head. Francis swore under his breath before darting in, going to close the door when he realized the mop handle was in the way.

_Why?!_

"Well, it's empty." Francis stiffened as Alfred entered the room, closely followed by Arthur. He had been trying to get the mop handle loose, but immediately froze, hoping they didn't notice.

"Perfect. That was what I was going for, love."

Wait. 'Love'?

Francis was sure he'd heard it wrong. Or perhaps it was a pet name Arthur used for Alfred when they were alone. There was no way Arthur could possibly mean—

Then there were _sounds_. And not just any sounds. Soft, wet sounds that Francis knew all too well. _Oh, pas vrai…_ He managed to snatch the mop handle into the closet and lean it against a wall before peering out.

And, oh, was it anything but _pas vrai_. The cigarette that was held so lovingly between Francis's lips fell away in shock.

Alfred and Arthur were kissing. Yes, Francis had to keep telling himself, Arthur's lips were on Alfred's lips and they were moving them and, oh, was that _tongue_? Francis could feel a leer tugging at his lips. _Ohon, I am too lucky. And influential, hon._

The couple's hands began to roam, and Arthur's in particular were especially exploratory. Alfred broke the kiss to gasp. "Fuck, your hands are cold!"

Arthur huffed. "Let me warm them up, then." And he plunged his hands down the back of Alfred's pants. The American moaned as his ample ass was kneaded, Arthur nipping at the tender skin on his neck. "Hmm, it feels very warm down here."

Alfred took a few steps back as Arthur's hands pushed further downward, the moving masses shoved down Alfred's pants going back and forth, rubbing down his crack. Alfred's legs hit the arm of the couch, and Arthur quickly hooked an arm around him to prevent him from falling backward onto it and escaping his ministrations. Arthur's knee wedged itself between Alfred's splayed legs, and one of his hands began to make thrusting motions inside his pants. And something very different was happening in Francis's own pants…

Alfred's head lolled back, and his hips twitched into Arthur's sensual onslaught. "Sh-shit, Artie… _fuck_."

Arthur took advantage of Alfred's exposed throat and attacked it, sucking on it with fervor. "What do you want, Alfred?" he practically purred. His hand reached up to tweak Alfred's curl.

Alfred bucked up wildly and gave a choking gasp, nearly going boneless. But Arthur seemed to know what was coming and yanked one hand out of Alfred's pants to hold him up, the other still furiously digging into his ass. Alfred regained his breath and moaned, "I-I want your cock. Fuck me, babe, and fucking _hurry_."

And if that didn't send a spike of heat to Francis's own hardening cock. _And to think I could have been watching this before,_ Francis mused as his hand slipped downwards to relieve the growing ache in his groin.

Arthur released Alfred then, letting him fall backward onto the couch—which was conveniently facing Francis's closet. The man just laid there, panting like a dog in heat and watching Arthur undress—wait, Arthur was undressing!

"If we had more time," the Brit said, shrugging off his blazer and tossing it on a nearby table. His slender fingers went to the buttons of his peridot dress shirt next. "I would have you suck me off like you usually do,"—two buttons—"But seeing as we only now have twenty minutes,"—another two—"We can't,"—halfway down—"You owe me a blowjob."

Arthur slipped the shirt off and discarded it. Then he grabbed at the hem of his undershirt. He began to pull it off oh-so slowly, and Francis didn't know he was drooling until some dripped onto his hand. Fuck, where was Kiku and his camera when he needed him? _Why did I leave my phone in my bag?!_

"Artie," Alfred whined, hands going to his own belt with haste. "Y-you're such a goddamn tease. Makin' my clothes all sweaty, ugh."

Arthur leaned forward and slapped Alfred's hands away from his waist. "I _apologize._ Allow me to help you."

Alfred was squirming the entirety of his disrobing, though that was probably because Arthur was moving so _agonizingly_ slow. Already fifteen minutes had passed and they hadn't really done anything. That and Francis was already hard as all hell. Francis had teased Arthur about being talented enough to work in a strip club (he did seem to have some skill when he was drunk off his ass), but fuck if he saw that it was _true_ …

Arthur unbuckled Alfred's belt and sluggishly slid the article from the loops. He unzipped Alfred's pants and lazily pulled them down and off. He rid Alfred of his shirt with the speed of molasses, and he placed long, lingering kisses down Alfred's plump belly to the band of his underwear where he pulled back to run a finger down the prominent tent he was met with. He chuckled as he tapped the bulge, Alfred flinching in pleasure as he did so.

"You're wet," Arthur accused, pulling his finger back. A thin strand of precum followed as evidence. "Leaking right through. Little America has soiled his knickers again."

"Sh-shut up, you meanie. Now I have to walk around with wet underwear," Alfred half moaned. "J-just take them off already, you fucking slow old man, _damn_."

Arthur clucked. "Patience is a virtue, Alfred. And foreplay is just as important. That's why I top and you bottom." He swiped Alfred's boxer-briefs off with such speed it made Alfred gasp from the cold his groin was met with. But he just as soon recovered and spread his legs nice and wide for Arthur. Good God. Francis felt an intense nosebleed coming on, and didn't much feel like hemorrhaging before seeing the hot scene through.

Alfred scoffed, though breathily. "I-I can throw you down right now and fuck your brains out if I wanted. I'm a fucking s-superpower, bitch!"

Arthur raised a large eyebrow, finally ridding himself of his slacks and underwear. And then he was standing there, pale, predictably curvy, and delectably nude. Francis's hand had subconsciously wrapped around his own cock, giving it a few tugs. Not surprisingly, it was already wet and straining—something he shared with Arthur, he saw. Francis was unable to keep a coherent thought in his head as his eyes took into memory every inch of skin revealed to him.

"Oh, what was that?" Arthur prompted, making Francis snap out of his daze… somewhat. "Did you say you wanted to be teased more? Well, I would be happy to obli—"

"Don't you fucking dare, ya big jerk!" Alfred snapped before lifting his fingers to his mouth and laving them. Both Arthur's and Francis's eyes followed the trail they made down Alfred's body and between his spread legs. Alfred swirled one around his hole. "C'mon, Artie. Doncha wanna fuck me into this couch?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "If you want to act like a cheap whore, then I'll shag you like a cheap whore. All fours."

Alfred huffed and rolled over, positioning himself with his legs spread wide. He looked back over his shoulder, unamused. "Ya happy?"

Arthur ignored him and glanced at his watch. For some reason having that one thing still on made naked Arthur look even hotter. "Ten minutes. Pity, I suppose we'll have to hurry."

Alfred scoffed. "Only because you're so fucking slo—OH!"

A fucking hermaphrodite landshark could have walked into the room with a three foot dong and a tooth-lined snatch, and Francis still would not have spared it a single glance. Because Arthur had just grabbed Alfred by the hips and shoved his cock into the boy's ass. _Entirely_.

"Be quiet for once, will you?" Arthur snapped and immediately began to thrust. "Don't want the frog hearing us fuck. He can probably hear a moan from miles away, the lecher…"

 _Oh, I hear much more than that, cher._ And he was certainly _seeing_ the action. Holy hell, this was good. He couldn't even blink for fear of missing a single moment. Arthur's cool expression as he drove his hips into the plush ass before him; Alfred's eyes screwed shut and his teeth biting down on his hand to silence the little moans spilling out, his cock rigid beneath him. This was Francis's fantasy live. Except he wasn't in it. Dammit.

"O-only 'c-'cause you shoved i-it in without lube!" Alfred flashed back, and a groan escaped his lips before he could muffle it.

"It's not my fault that you talk back at every turn." Arthur stopped to adjust, and Francis knew by the way he repositioned his pelvis that he was searching for Alfred's prostate. Francis found himself mentally coaching Arthur—he, of course, knew where most of the countries' spots were, and Alfred was no exception. "Now, shut it and take your bloody apology!"

Francis couldn't help it at this point. Anyone would understand if his hand began to consistently stroke his cock which was weeping and purpling. Which was exactly what he did.

"Mmm… mmm… mmMNAH!"

Arthur stilled to grind against that one spot. Alfred keened and arched, fingers digging into the arm of the couch before him. He was already breathless, and his body was beginning to shake with arousal. "Fuck yeah, Artie, right there. Oh fuck…"

And just when Francis thought it couldn't get any hotter, Arthur had to go and lean over Alfred, taking a pert nipple in hand and pulling it harshly. His tongue snaked out and ran over Alfred's flushed shoulder. "Hmm, slut," he accused before straightening and driving into Alfred with a fury.

"O-oh, my God." Alfred couldn't bite down on his hand as he was too busy holding the couch to keep from being pushed off by Arthur's aggressive thrusts. "Artie, yes, yes, fuck, yes!"

"If we get caught," Arthur said. "It's y-your fault, unf."

Despite the warning, Alfred kept moaning, his voice getting higher and more breathless as he neared his end—which was great for Francis. He felt like his wrist was going to snap from pumping his dick so fast.

And then, finally, Alfred stiffened and his hips jerked forward of their own accord, spilling himself onto the couch… without so much as being touched. The boy gave a quivering moan and his upper half rushed down to meet the couch, arms splayed and ass in the air, Arthur pounding the air right out of his lungs. Francis was close to exploding, but he had to see Arthur come, had to see the look on his face—

And there it was. Arthur stilled deep inside and pinned Alfred's ass to him, face scrunching up just a bit as he filled his 'special' someone up. Below him, Alfred sighed Arthur's name, and that pushed Francis over. He tried to catch it all, dammit, but his cum shot with so much force that it practically flew out of the crack in the closet. But he was too lost in his pleasure to care. _Best… meeting… ever…_

By the time Arthur pulled out, Alfred's legs were shivering in an effort just to keep himself up. Francis had to bite his hand to silence a moan from seeing a thick strand of cum connecting the Briton's soft, wet cock to Alfred's used red ass. Francis's hand shot back down to his groin to give it a good squeeze when he saw the rest of Arthur's load dribble down Alfred's thighs.

"Mmmf." Alfred fell panting onto his side, eyes hooded and flushed skin shining with sweat. "Apology… accepted, babe."

Arthur was already cleaning himself up with a kerchief. "Don't get too comfortable. We have two minutes to get back before anyone suspects."

Alfred sat straight up, eyes wide. "Shit! You took so fucking long to actually _fuck_ me—"

"Oh, stop bitching," Arthur snapped, straightening his paisley tie and sparing a glance at Alfred. He tossed him his kerchief and Alfred caught it in one hand. "And clean yourself up. You look like a fucked up whore."

"Well, thanks for the compliment, asshole," Alfred snorted before doing as Arthur said. He winced a bit when he pressed too hard on his abused hole. "Ow, shoulda used lube…"

Arthur laughed. Yes, he actually expressed mirth. "Ha! You'll be waddling for a good while, I know. France will smell a rat."

 _Oh, I_ more _than smell it._

Alfred _tch_ ed. "You're a jerk." Then he added with a smile and smoothing of his dress shirt, "But I love you anyway."

"Yes, well, you're a lackwit, but I love _you_ anyway."

Alfred pouted. "You don't mean that."

Arthur's eyes once again roamed away from him and he scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. Francis supremely hoped he wasn't eying the closet he was currently hiding in. Arthur sighed. "No, I suppose I don't…"

Francis gaped. _What?_ Arthur called _him_ every name under the sun and he hadn't taken anything back. Though Francis guessed that was because they weren't fucking… or Francis wasn't Alfred. Either way. But who wouldn't like _Francis_?

Arthur's gaze returned to Alfred's, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Come here, love."

Alfred complied without the slightest hesitation, his mouth meeting Arthur's own. It was sort of arousing to Francis to tell the truth, which was strange; it wasn't a hungry or wanton or dirty, but a simple kiss shared between, well, lovers. He sighed and wiped his eyes of tears. _Ah, the powers of l'amour get me every time. I never thought England would ever have a long-term partner… or a lovelife. Now, if only I could somehow weasel my way between them—their bodies, that is._ A leer stretched his lips and his mind instantly began whirring with cunning. _Ohonhon, I always find a way. I am the country of l'amour, how can I not?_

The two were on their way out before Francis tucked himself back into his pants and zipped them up. He eyed the puddle of cum he'd left on the carpet. Meh, he'd leave the surprise for the cleaning lady. He inched over to the door and peered out, snickering when he saw the door across the room shut quietly, as if they were wary of someone hearing them. Well, how ironic.

Francis was beyond elated. This was by far and away the _best meeting ever_. Now he knew what Arthur and Alfred were doing, and, oh, the fantasies were already starting to conjure. He hoped Arthur wouldn't suspect anything; after all, now that Francis had seen his naked form he would be thoroughly undressing the man with his eyes any chance he could get. And the best part? He knew what was underneath.

He'd fantasized for the entire meeting, seen Arthur nude, and jerked off to a live porno with two of his most desired pornsta—um, men. Now he could follow them and watch them go at it every meeting (because he himself knew how addicting public sex was and how greedy Alfred was). He couldn't fathom how this day could get any better.

And, oh, he truly could not. For he wasn't expecting that as soon as he took a step, the mop which he had left leaning haphazardly against the wall decided to exact its revenge by catching his foot midstep. Francis had just enough time to think how strange it was for him to be coming out of the closet, albeit a little less gracefully than he would have preferred, before he tumbled out. He gave a sharp yelp as he fell on his face—his beautiful face!—sprawled and twitching on the floor. He was just getting his hands beneath him to lift himself up, when the door across the room opened with a sudden bang, and Francis, horrified, peered up to see Arthur and Alfred standing on the threshold, gaping and wide-eyed.

But Arthur's eyes were quick to narrow. _"Frog,"_ he hissed, furious despite the growing blush on his face.

Alfred reflected his lover's embarrassment and looked somewhat lost. "Um… uh…" Then he gave a weak laugh. "Well, um, isn't this awkward? Hahaha… haha… ha…"

Arthur stomped into the room, rolling up his sleeves. "I am going to yank your sodding perverted eyes out!"

Francis shrieked—Arthur was scary when he was angry, and he was kind of still trying to get up from the floor. Arthur came at him while Alfred stood by and watched with a wry expression, Francis leaping to his feet and dashing out of the door before Arthur could snatch him up by his froggy hair and wring his neck (because that was what he normally did, and Francis wasn't inclined to feel a breeze going across the bald patches that would litter his scalp afterward). He kept running, Arthur rushing after him, calling him every name he could think of. But Francis couldn't bring himself to care.

"Angleterre and Amerique are having _special sex_ ~!" he sang as he ran past the other nations returning from their break. Roderich appeared horrified and offended, while beside him Elizaveta gave a squeal of glee. Ivan just looked on with a creepy, somewhat knowing smile. Feliciano said, "Ve, America and England are having sex?", and Ludwig just facepalmed.

Francis rounded a corner, and he didn't slow. He was very good at running (years of Arthur chasing him around had given him the legs for it), and soon Arthur was puffing after him, easing off a bit as he tired. Probably from all that fucking.

"HONHONHON~" Francis chortled on his way. "I know why you two are 'special'~!"

"I'll make _you_ fucking special when I kick your arse!"

And so poor Ludwig removed from his thoughts the theory that taking breaks would contribute to the vivacity of the meetings. He banned them, and Arthur and Francis were constantly glared at throughout the entirety of the following one. But, surprisingly, Alfred didn't get any scornful looks. Francis supposed it was because Alfred was giving Arthur his owed blowjob beneath the table. He didn't bother recording it. He knew Kiku would. And did the perverted little 'conservative' nation _love_ to share all his _special_ little findings.

* * *

Translations:

 _merde_ -shit

 _pas vrai_ -not true

A Word From the Writer: And that, my fellow fangirls, is how history is made. You know, if history was just a series of endless, personified pornos. Oh well. France may be history as soon as England catches up with him...

Check out my current fic **_Standing at the Edge of the World._** Until my next inspiration, ta!


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